Chapter 5: Abu Ghraib. Two words that stopped a seasoned hitman in his tracks.

The city was quiet at 2 AM, the kind of silence that made every small sound feel louder. Inside his dimly lit apartment, Ren sat slouched in his chair, eyelids heavy, waiting.

The ex-CIA agent, Alex, was supposed to call, but hours had passed. The city outside murmured in the distance, the occasional honk or shout breaking through the silence.

At around 2 AM, just as sleep was about to win, his phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

He picked up, voice thick with fatigue.

"Yeah?"

A low, rough voice answered. "Ramen shop near you."

Ren rubbed his eyes, trying to catch up. "Ramen shop? Near me?"

A pause.

Then, a smirk laced Alex’s voice. "I haven’t had dinner yet."

The line went dead.

Alex knew exactly where Ren was, and he wanted him to know that.

The ramen shop was a hole-in-the-wall spot, the kind that stayed open just late enough for the city’s insomniacs.

It smelled of broth, oil, and cigarette smoke.

Inside, it was empty.

The only customer sat at the counter was a man in his early 40s with sharp, weathered features and the kind of posture that said he never sat with his back to the door.

Alex.

He was halfway through a bowl of ramen, chopsticks moving with casual precision.

The shop owner lingered in the back, puffing on a cigarette, paying them no mind.

Ren took a step forward, but Alex’s eyes flicked up to him, and in that instant, his expression twisted into something between disgust and disappointment.

Alex sighed, shoved his bowl away, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Arata sent me here to talk to a kid? If I didn’t respect him that much, I’d put a bullet in your head right now."

He tossed a few bills onto the counter and stood up. "Lost my appetite."

He turned to leave.

"Wait, wait." Ren’s voice came out sharper than intended, but Alex didn’t slow down.

Ren exhaled, then...

"Abu Ghraib."

Alex froze mid-step.

A long, heavy pause.

Then, without turning around, he asked quietly, but with an edge like a blade, "What about it?"

"I need to do something similar."

Silence.

Then, Alex let out a slow breath, almost a chuckle, but there was no humor in it.

“You wanna do what we did in Abu Ghraib?” Alex’s voice was low, almost a growl, as he turned to face Ren fully.

His tone was laced with skepticism, but there was a flicker of curiosity there too. “How would a kid like you even know about what happened there?”

Ren didn’t flinch. He met Alex’s gaze head-on, his dark eyes unreadable. “Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

His voice was calm, almost polite, but there was an edge to it that made Alex pause. “And... I’m sure you respect Arata, but it’s more than just respect, isn’t it? He owns the entire country.”

Alex hesitated for a moment, then sat down, his movements deliberate.













He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his eyes never leaving Ren’s face. “Alright, kid. You’ve got my attention. What’s this about?”

Ren folded his hands neatly on the table, his expression serene. “There are four targets. I need your help to make them go through the same type of treatment as the prisoners in Abu Ghraib. But it doesn’t have to be that extreme. I don’t want them to have PTSD afterward.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re talking about torture, but you don’t want it to leave a mark? That’s a fine line to walk. What do you have in mind?”

“Stress positions. Sensory deprivation. Mock executions,” Ren replied without missing a beat. His voice was steady, almost clinical, as if he were discussing a school project rather than psychological warfare.

Alex let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises? You’re well-informed for someone your age. But let me get this straight, you want these people to go through hell, but you want them to walk away like nothing happened? And you want it done in less than twenty-four hours?”

Ren nodded. “Exactly. They need to return to their families without raising suspicion.”

Alex tilted his head, studying Ren like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. “Why? What did these people do to you?”

“They’re teachers,” he said, his voice colder now, sharper. “They abused students. Sexually. Violently. Emotionally. Mentally. They destroyed lives, and they walked away like it was nothing. I want them to feel what they put those kids through.”

Alex’s smirk faded, replaced by something darker.

He leaned forward again, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You’re not just some kid, are you? You’ve got a vendetta. I can respect that. But tell me this—why come to me? Why not handle it yourself?”

Ren’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because you’re the best. And because I need someone who knows how to do this without crossing the line. I don’t want them broken. I want them to remember.”

Alex chuckled, a low, humorless sound. “Alright, kid. I’ll play along. Here’s how we do it.” He leaned back, his fingers drumming lightly on the table as he laid out the plan. “We take them one by one. Show them photos of their victims, let that sink in. Then we put them in a dark room, blindfolded, ears covered. Tie their hands and feet behind their backs, leave them on the ground for thirty minutes. Bring them out, show them the photos again, then put them back in. Repeat the process. But the third time, when they think they’re getting out after thirty minutes, we leave them for two hours.”

Ren frowned, his brow furrowing. “Isn’t two hours too short? I want this to stick.”

Alex shook his head. “You want them to go back to their families without raising suspicion. If we push it too far, they’ll crack. Two hours is enough to mess with their heads, but not enough to leave permanent damage. Trust me, by the end of it, they’ll be seeing their victims every time they close their eyes.”

Ren considered this, then nodded slowly. “What about the teacher who sexually abused students? I want something… special for him.”

Alex’s lips curled into a wicked grin. “I’ve got just the thing. I found a container full of dildos, thousands of them, all shapes and sizes. Couldn’t sell the damn things. How about we strip him naked, throw him in a pit, and drown him in those sticky, mucus-covered toys? He’ll have to climb over them to survive. It’s poetic, don’t you think?”

Ren’s expression didn’t change, but there was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Do it. Send the bill to Arata. But there’s one condition—I have to be there. I want to see it happen.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, his grin fading slightly. “You sure about that, kid? It’s not gonna be pretty. Hell, it’s not something most adults can stomach.”

Ren’s voice was firm, unwavering. “I’ll be there because those teachers will be there because of me.”

Alex studied him for a long moment, then let out a low chuckle. “You’re something else, kid. Alright, you can watch. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He said as he stood, stretching lazily. “I think I’m gonna have fun working with you.”

As Alex walked out of the room, Ren remained seated, as he still had a lot to handle.

The operation itself was one thing, but making sure the temporary disappearance of the teachers wouldn’t set off alarms at the school or in their homes required careful planning.